It Begins
by silver-kin
Summary: His story begins as all stories do-with a book.


Disclaimer: Kingdom Hearts is the property of Disney and Square Enix.

Written as a Secret Santa gift for stillskies, over at kh_drabble.

**It Begins**

**1**

"Once upon a time, there was a boy," his mother said, bending down to ruffle his hair fondly before turning her attention back to the stove, tossing the next batch of flour-coated mushrooms onto the pan. "He was such a darling little boy. Eyes as bright as the sun and the cutest most pinchable cheeks in the whole entire world—"

"Mother."

"He got along with everyone and anyone. Always polite, and so very helpful. You won't find a friendlier creature on the planet. Everyone loved—"

_"Mother."_

She laughed, tossing her head back in generous good humour. "A sweet boy. But he was insatiable." Here she paused, one hand on her hip. "He questioned everything. And I mean, everything. The birds, the sky, the ocean. If it existed, he had to know all about it. Almost like he needed stories to breathe."

He scowled and fidgeted anxiously. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, dear," she said, planting a kiss on his forehead. "Nothing at all."

**2**

"Back again, son?"

Xehanort turned around and nodded to the librarian. "I finished the books I borrowed."

"Already? You've only had them for two days."

He shrugged, a brief roll of thin, scrawny shoulders. "I read pretty fast. And they were very good too."

The elderly man chuckled. "It's nice to see a young man like you taking an interest in history. Not many people bother with that these days. 'The past is passed,' they say. 'The future is what counts.'"

"I think nothing is more important. The past is where our stories begin."

"Exactly." The librarian clapped a hand to Xehanort's back in a blatant show of scholarly pride. "You get it son. You know how it works."

He stumbled forward at the sheer force behind the gesture; the old man was stronger than he looked. "How what works?"

"The worlds," he said. "The stars."

Xehanort frowned, not understanding. 'What do you mean?"

A few minutes later, the librarian returned and handed him an old, dusty book. "This one's very special," he informed Xehanort. "The first story ever written. It's from my own private collection. "

He turned it over in his shaking hands, giddy with anticipation. The title of the book had long since faded, leaving nothing but minute indentations on the cover. "What's it about?"

"Ah," the old man said, tapping a finger to his lips in a conspirational gesture. "Read it and find out."

**3**

Pages were flipped.

Doors opened.

**4**

One night, a stranger came to the island.

Xehanort was curled up in one of the island's hidden alcoves, a book lying half-forgotten in his lap as he watched the moon's gradual ascent into the sky. It was very quiet.

A figure appeared on the beach in mid-stride, almost as if it had walked out of thin air. With hair the colour of midnight, the man looked like the ghouls of ancient memoirs; his skin was deathly white, piercing through the darkness, and he wore a long mantle the shade of dried blood. In his right hand, he held a strangely-shaped sword, nearly invisible in the night. As he walked, he made a small gesture and the weapon disappeared.

Suddenly, it became unbearably cold. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand as shivers raced down his spine. Whispers crept into the air around him, breathing down his neck and into his heart. Xehanort swallowed and stayed very still.

The man looked around once, twice and stopped.

He held his breath.

And suddenly, the stranger was in the cave with him, his red cloak flapping against the stone caves as he glared down at Xehanort.

"Boy," he said.

Xehanort jumped back, bumping into the wall behind him. The book fell to the ground between them, landing on its cover.

The stranger glanced at it before turning the full force of his stare on him. "Tell me," he began, pointing at the book with his armoured hand, "How well do you know this story?"

There was a pause before Xehanort answered. "Well enough."

He scoffed. "A word of caution then. Keep this up and others will eventually find you. Just as I did."

Xehanort frowned. "How _did_ you find me?"

The other man gave him a look that seemed almost amused. He lifted his right hand; black clouds gathered in his palm, coalescing before materialising as a key-shaped blade, glowing faintly in the dark of the cave.

Xehanort stared. In his chest, his heart thumped furiously against his ribcage, the sound like thunder in his ears.

"Not all of us died in that war," the stranger said quietly.

**5**

"I don't get it," Eraqus said, propping his head up on one hand as his brows drew together in a bemused, slightly alarmed expression. "Why would you want that?"

Xehanort sighed. They had decided to spend the evening relaxing in one of the castle's many training ground. The serene atmosphere, the soothing wind—one thing led to another and suddenly they were exchanging stories.

He looked up. The stars were watching him; he could feel the weight of their secrets filling his chest with a burning desire for more. "Because I need to know," he replied. "I need to know what it was like."

**6**

At the very centre of the island's caves, a man stood surrounded by shadows.

He was tracing a door into the walls, every inch done with meticulous precision. The outline pulsed with raw energy, licking the stones with angry tongues of flame.

When he finished, Xehanort took out his key and locked it.

"When the time comes, this door will open," he said. "And everything will begin anew."

In the shadows, the Darkness murmured a lazy reply. As he stepped back, it stretched out as one long, curling tendril, reaching towards the door and seeping into the walls around it.

Xehanort smiled.

**7**

"Tell me a story."

_Once upon a time, there was a boy..._


End file.
